Nonsense
by Naraya-Marjana
Summary: Behind every great person's tale of success, there is a love story. Hearts are broken, dreams are crushed, and yet people go on. Why?


"_That is nonsense."_

"_Truth. Made from contradiction."_

These words still haunt him. He is an old man now and Jane, precious, wonderful, beloved Jane Austen, the authoress of the most accomplished prose ever written by a man or woman, is dead. He hopes to follow her soon.

So what does it matter now if they spent their lives apart, loving each other from afar? All of that will soon be over as well.

He has grieved enough.

"_Do you love me?"_

"_Yes."_

The sound of her voice still thrills him, even as mere memory. So what if she professed her love to him with passion no one could equal? So what if he loved her, still loves her more than anyone, more than his own self, more than his only child? She is nothing if not the essence of perfection and he has always belonged to her, since before he knew he was a man, or before he knew what a woman was.

She called it truth, he said it was nonsense. So what if he was right? So what if his family only used him as an excuse not to try harder or do better, living conveniently if not comfortably at his expense?

She believed in a higher purpose to truth, and love. She believed their union should not come at the cost of their families, should not be destructive in order to exist. In all honesty, he would have made the same choice she made, had he not been terribly, wretchedly, insanely in love with her. Although she did not love him any less fervently, she had more perspective.

She loved two things above all others – the art of writing, and him. After she gave him up, she turned to the only other aspect of her life she could devote herself to without hurting anyone, risking damage to no one and nothing but her own reputation.

So what does it matter if they threw away a lifetime of happiness? It was the inevitable consequence of her indomitable spirit, of her free will. And her will is sacred to him. Has always been sacred to him.

It appears there was some value in life even though they were not together. Everyone benefited from their love, in the end. Absolutely everyone.

His loving her was what made him into a man at the time. He was nothing but a foolish boy, squandering his days on booze, various unnamed women, and boxing. She had given him purpose, shown him the meaning of justice and honour. He grew to be a responsible husband and a devoted father due to her. A blessing to his family and a pillar of the society.

How insufferable he would have become with the passing of time and the fading of his fleeting delights, if he had not found a permanent source of joy – joy he was separated from after only sampling it.

He was always hers and she was never his. She always only belonged to herself. That is one of the reasons he loves her so.

He finds solace in knowing that he had been right. Before they spoke of love he had said that her horizons should be widened by an extraordinary young man. Widened, indeed. Every word she has ever written, every page ever published is due to him and him alone.

Her love for him gave rise to her talent, provided her with food for thought and enabled her to live by her pen. Her renown has brought her universal appreciation and acceptance. It was no small accomplishment – for an unmarried female novelist – and the word "accomplished", used as a jibe at a time when they were both young and full of unfulfilled dreams, has come to mean something else entirely.

Love.

The love they shared bettered them both, but her more than him. He was merely improved somewhat while she was elevated beyond imagination.

If she had not met him, had not loved him and decided on a whim to elope with him, she would not have become the greatest of women who have ever lived. While his name will be forgotten in less than half a century, hers will be remembered forever.

He believes now she knew of the vital role he played in the unfolding of the events that led to her achievement. Even though he feels she sacrificed their life together and threw away his love for the sake of writing novels, he knows it is not true, and he does not resent her. He would have given her everything she asked. She wanted him, and she wanted to write. The only thing that pains him is that he could not give her both.

How proud he was of her that evening she was staying in his uncle's house, when she argued relentlessly that irony is not the enemy of truth. She believed she was justified in making herself heard, and his admiration grew with every word she spoke.

How outraged he was when she used the same argument to explain why they should part ways, and how much it hurt that she held on to her philosophy with so much strength and faith, and yet she could not, would not do the same for him, for his poor heart and soul he had entrusted her with. He imagined at the time she had found him less than worthy, just as he had feared.

After the bitter disappointment and feelings of betrayal subsided, he has come to understanding and gratitude. He is now well aware of the fact that while their passing romance gave birth to her success, their married life would have utterly ruined it.

She loved two things above all others – him and the art of writing. He loved only her, and in that was his tragedy.

He hasn't always been aware that her destiny was to be greater than his, that her life was more important than his own. It pained him to no end that he was merely an instrument by which the fate's plans could, and were fulfilled. Although he offered once, in a flirtatious jest, to be exactly that – a tool, providing her with the experience she needed – he had no idea that she would take him up on the offer.

He is only certain of one thing: that she did not use him knowingly. And even if she had, he would not have wanted to deprive her of the talent she so ardently defended. And in that thought, which he clings to with all his heart, he finds forgiveness for her, and for himself.

He hasn't always been able to live easily, knowing all this. Only lately has he come to accept what life has bestowed upon him. A faithful wife, a jewel of a daughter, a brilliant career, and – and love eternal, incarnate in the most glorious of spirits, the most alluring of figures, the most noble of hearts.

"_Jane. I would never give you up."_


End file.
